


At the least could we be friends?

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Compatibility Test, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Kissing for Cover, Misunderstandings, etc etc - Freeform, kind of, kind of enemies to friends to lovers, the serpents are a low key gang that don't dispose of murdered teenage boys, valentine's fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:13:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: A chance encounter between a Riverdale High cheerleader and a recently transferred Southside Serpent gets off to an uncertain start. Throw in a charity Valentine’s Compatibility Test, a stubbornly defiant ‘couple’, and a drunken confession and you’ve got yourself a story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of fun for Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoy, and the second part will hopefully be up very soon!
> 
> Title from If You Don’t, Don’t by Jimmy Eat World

Betty’s holding her cell in her hand when a phone starts to buzz. She blinks at the lifeless device in her grip, staring at it with a puzzled bemusement as it remains quiet and unlit.

 

But she’s certain there’s a phone ringing, as certain as she is that the device in question is on her person. She’s about to write herself off as having completely succumbed to Cheryl’s gruelling Nationals practice stress when the light bulb flickers to life above her head.

 

She digs around in her backpack, setting it down on the locker room bench behind her to get a better purchase, before finally locating the source of the ringing.

 

“Hello?” she asks tentatively over the line, fingers playing with the pleats in her skirt.

 

“Oh, thank God,” the voice on the other end breathes, by way of greeting. “Who is this?”

 

“Betty Cooper, speaking. Are you… um, is this your phone?” She adjusts her grip around the black casing, running the pad of her forefinger along a crack down the plastic.

 

“Yeah,” the low voice replies, still sounding a little breathless with relief. “Where did you find it?”

 

“On my table, in English class.” She’d been a bit confused when she’s walked in to find a phone lying atop her desk, just off center, to the right. Betty had looked around in confusion to see if someone nearby had placed it down absentmindedly, but she was pretty early to her first class of the day and it didn’t appear that anyone was missing said phone. She’d placed it in her bag for safekeeping, at first planning to take it to the lost and found, but the idea of it maybe not making it back to its owner from there had her chewing on her lower lip in worry for a moment.

 

“I was going to see if I could find out who it belonged to, but it was password protected and I couldn’t get in. Which you would know, obviously, as it’s your phone,” she rambles, squeezing her eyes shut at her lack of composure. “Sorry. W-who are you?” she asks, hating how blunt it sounds.

 

“Jughead Jones.” Her brow wrinkles—it’s too much of an unusual name for her not to be familiar with whoever it belonged to if they went to Riverdale High, but then…

 

“You’re one of the new transfers from Southside?”

 

“Yes.” His voice is hard, challenging, and she swallows against the images her mind conjures of just who could be on the other side of this phone call. The Southsiders who’d had to join the student body after the sudden closure of their own school could be intimidating, to say the least. She’d tried her hardest not to act any different around them though—they were just students, like she was; she knew how much she hated to feel out of her depth so she could only imagine what these guys felt like, no matter how tough they acted, thrown headfirst into an environment that didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon. The _least_ she could do was reserve judgement. “What did you say your name was again?” he asks suddenly.

 

“Betty Cooper?” she squeaks with a hint of uncertainty—why, she does not know. A lot of her attention is going on keeping her cool.

 

“Cooper. You run the school paper, right?” Betty blinks in surprise, stunned that someone who had barely done a full week at their new school would remember who she was, let alone recognise her by name.

 

“That’s right,” she tries to agree as brightly as possible, finding this revelation oddly comforting. A very small part of her tries to assign the feeling ‘unsettling’ to this information too, but she resolutely squashes it down. _Reserving judgement_ , she reminds herself. There’s a steady beep over the line that sounds an awful lot like the warning of a pay phone running out. She hears him curse under his breath.

 

“Look, I’ll just come by the paper tomorrow to get it from you,” he hurries.

 

“Oh, okay. Well—” The beep of the line disconnecting sounds in her ear and she pulls the phone back to look at the darkened screen. “Goodbye then,” she murmurs to no one.

.

.

.

She hadn’t had a chance to tell _Jughead Jones_ that she wouldn’t be in the office until after school today, and that she would have skipped it altogether if it weren’t for his desire to meet her there—unsurprisingly, Cheryl had scheduled another emergency practice. She’d changed quickly after her last class of the day and sped to the other end of the school, taking in deep breaths to try and calm her racing pulse while willing the flush of overexertion from her cheeks before the mystery Southsider arrived.

 

Betty bustles about by her desk, in lieu of having any actual time to work on the upcoming issues, straightening printed sheets and putting away stationary. She hadn’t been thinking about who would be coming to meet her at the end of the day, she hadn’t. And she most certainly hadn’t been peering curiously at all the potential candidates that passed her by in the halls.

 

She’s so absorbed in _not thinking_ about him that she startles at the knock against the doorframe.

 

“Cooper?” She whips around, stumbling slightly over her own feet in her haste.

 

Betty tries to be subtle as she looks over the boy standing before her, but she’s sure her lips have parted. He’s tall and lean, a single curl of his dark locks escaping an uniquely shaped beanie slouched on his head. His jawline is angular and tense, like he’s prepped for confrontation, his full lips set in a thin line just below a long nose and a pair of intensely blue eyes, a scattering of freckles littering his olive-toned skin. There’s no doubting he’s incredibly handsome, and Betty’s flush returns for a whole new reason.

 

She does know who he is now she’s seen him. She tries not to admit to herself that she’s noticed him lingering in the halls, but Betty’s never been all that good at _really_ lying to herself—only to others.

 

And she’s not blind. She can acknowledge a handsome face when she sees one. And a nice-looking body...

 

Despite his casual stance against the doorframe, there’s something in the way he holds his limbs that makes him seem like a wary animal, poised to flee. Betty wants to break the silence she’s initiated, but her eyes catch on one final thing—the leather jacket laying heavily across his shoulders. Undoubtedly, if he were to turn around she’d be face to face with the embroidered eyes of the serpent resting there. She senses him watching her watch him, following her train of thought, and he straightens to full height. She sucks in a breath through dry lips and pulls out her most accommodating smile.

 

“Hi, you must be Jughead?” she greets politely.

 

“Have you got it?” he all but demands, tersely. She jolts her head back, taken aback by his tone. He doesn’t look anything close to apologetic so she sets her jaw and spins on her heel to march over to her backpack.

 

“Here,” her tone matches his as she slaps it into his upturned palm. Any nerves she might have felt due to his presence have been overtaken by annoyance. He quickly unlocks it, scrolling through the few notifications it has gathered overnight. “You’re welcome,” Betty says pointedly, lifting a brow.

 

His eyes lift to hers, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. He takes in her expectant expression, looking her up and down in a way that makes her skin prickle all over—with what, she isn’t sure—the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

 

“Ah, thanks. For keeping it. If I’d lost it at Southside you can guarantee I wouldn’t have got it back,” Jughead jokes wryly. “Sorry, just… had something I needed to check,” he explains, holding up the device. There’s something sad softening the corners of his eyes and it melts away some of Betty’s hostility.

 

“You’re welcome,” she repeats, quieter, more genuine this time. His eyes flicker over her once again. “What?”

 

“You’re a cheerleader.” Jughead states, and there’s something in his tone that makes her bristle again.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shoots defensively, holding his gaze.

 

Jughead doesn’t blink. “It just doesn’t seem to fit, you know,” he shrugs, pointing a finger up and down her uniform. “That with,” he moves the finger in a circle to gesture to the room, “this.”

 

“You don’t even know me, what’s your problem?” Betty scowls, folding her arms tightly across her chest. It’s been a long week and she’s not in the mood to be judged.

 

“No problem, just... curious,” he surrenders. The way he’s staring at her makes her want to roll her shoulders back, or duck her head under his unfamiliar scrutiny, but she doesn’t. He’s looking at her in a way that seems too personal, too knowing. “You don’t see too many cheerleaders with journalistic inclinations round here is all.”

 

Betty tilts her chin definitely, trying to bite her tongue against some harsh retorts. “You’re a Serpent,” she says instead, forcing the attention on him, relieved that her voice comes out without shaking. “You don’t see many gang members in attendance at a high school is all.” She wills herself not to flush as she tries to match his dig. That same smirk is back, bigger this time, as he looks down at his own jacket and then back to her in the same beat.

 

“Good eye,” he mutters sarcastically, lifting a brow. Betty huffs, annoyingly disappointed that he didn’t rise to her bait the same way she did. _When did he get this close?_ , Betty wonders, taking in their close proximity, imagining how many steps it would take to feel the warmth radiating off his body.

 

Betty’s own phone chirps from her front pocket, breaking the moment. She scrambles for it, heart sinking when she sees the name _Veronica_ flash up.

 

**_Cheryl’s raging. Where are you??? x_ **

 

Betty sighs. “I have to go. Close the door when you leave,” she calls out over her shoulder, trying not to look back at him as she goes.

 

“Cooper!” She turns, fixing her eyes somewhere over his left shoulder, rocking back on her heels.

 

“What?”

 

Jughead runs a hand over the desktop closest to him, the other lifting to rub at the back of his neck. “You got any openings on this paper?” he mumbles quietly, almost awkwardly. Betty tilts her head, regarding him with wonder. He looks adorable when he’s nervous and she feels her chest flutter. “I used to write for the one over at Southside.”

 

She just can’t pin him down, him wit his shifting moods. “You any good?” she says, knitting her brows in confusion. He lifts his head, eyes gleaming as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

 

“So I’ve been told,” he replies.

 

“Send me some of your work—I’ll be the judge of that,” she says in a moment of boldness before turning and scampering away from the room. She can hear his chuckle following her down the hall.

.

.

.

“B, where were you? I had to distract Cheryl by acquising to a verbal sparring match about who is the better Presidential candidate,” Veronica shoots, rolling her eyes.

 

Betty winces, throwing her bag into her locker and tightening her ponytail—she knows that can’t have been pleasant. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, don’t be. It was actually kind of a turn on,” Veronica waves her off, smirking at Betty’s delicate grimace. “So? What gives?” she asks again as they begin the walk to the gym, Betty’s steps a little too hurried to be natural.

 

“I found this guy’s phone the other day and I had to go to the Blue and Gold to return it to him.” Veronica halts her with a hand on her forearm, making Betty’s skin prickle at the thought of being _even more_ late. Her eyes flick anxiously to the door a few steps in front of them, wishing that they could just get on the other side of it.

 

“You found a guy’s phone? Holy meet-cute, Batman! Was he gorgeous?” Veronica asks eagerly, dark eyes shining with mischief.

 

“I… No! It wasn’t anything like that, I was just returning his phone. He’s one of the Southside transfers,” she adds pointedly, like that could get her best friend to stop putting any more ridiculous scenarios involving Jughead, and her, and another well-timed run-in, into her head… She can’t get the clip of his tongue coming out to sweep over his lower lip to stop replaying behind her eyes.

 

Veronica leans in, eyes narrowed and scrutinising. “Oh my, God—you’re blushing!” she yells, far too loud for Betty’s liking. She shushes her, actually pulling them away from the gym door.

 

“I am not; I just practically sprinted from the other side of the school to get here, that’s all,” Betty defends, lifting a hand to her cheek. Veronica is already shaking her head, dismissing her excuse.

 

“Nope, that is a _blush_ , Betty Cooper. And your pupils are all wide and lusty,” she wiggles her finger at Betty’s face. Betty blinks rapidly against the accusation. “You’ve got the hots for a Southside hottie!” Veronica gasps, far too gleefully.

 

“I don’t even know him!” Betty replies weakly, already anticipating the response.

 

“Please, that’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t know half the guys I’m attracted to—why do you think I find them so attractive?” she quips with a wink.

 

Betty sighs, glancing over her shoulder. “He was a _Serpent_ , V,” she reveals in a hushed whisper. “So can we just drop it?”

 

Veronica blinks in shock, and then just as quickly blinks that shock away. “Wow, girl, you really go all out.” She shakes her head, linking them together at the elbows and turning back towards the door, no doubt preparing their united front against a wrathful Cheryl. “You can still find one of those junior Serpents kinda cute though, right?” she asks a beat later, something tentative hidden in her voice.

 

“Which one?” Betty’s question is knowing.

 

“Ugh, that tall drink of water with the neck tattoo and the haunting eyes,” Veronica sighs dramatically. “I swear, I could do _so_ many things to that boy.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes, silently cursing herself for thinking the same thing.

.

.

.

“Is that him?” Veronica whispers excitedly as they sit behind their table in the hall. Betty’s only here as an act of goodwill, unable to avoid Veronica’s pleading eyes and promises to buy her a milkshake after school if she helped her stave off the boredom. As part of Veronica’s school philanthropy project (that’s a mandatory task as part of running for student body president) she’d come to the ‘ingenious’ conclusion that since the timing coincided with Valentine’s Day, love should be involved.

 

Betty had looked at the two dollar ‘compatibility quiz’ Veronica had handed her skeptically, already reaching for her wallet. There was no way that this kind of thing was legit. Veronica had dismissed her raised eyebrow with a cluck of her tongue, telling her that her matchmaking methods were impeccable.

 

Looking up from where she’s currently answering questions about herself—erring slightly on the side of too personal, she muses—Betty follows Veronica’s line of sight. Just swinging around the corner at the end of the hall is a grey blur of leather and flannel. Jughead’s head is down, his headphones resting round his neck while he’s completely absorbed in his phone. His teeth are worrying is lower lip and Betty fights against the swoop in her stomach. She’s also regretting relenting to Veronica’s pestering to describe her ‘mystery phone man’.

 

“Yes,” she whispers, “Now stop staring.” She averts her eyes quickly, worried that he might catch them both staring—she can’t resist _one_ last look, though.

 

“Oh, Jughead!” Veronica yells suddenly, sticking her hand up in the air to catch his attention. His head jolts up in surprise, features guarded when his eyes land on Veronica. Betty’s cheeks are flaming by the time he looks at her, but a flash of recognition crosses his eyes and he takes a hesitant step towards the table.

 

“What are you doing?!” Betty hisses before he makes it into earshot, trying to be as subtle as possible in the furious widening of her eyes.

 

“Being philanthropic,” she grins, wiggling her brows.

 

“Cooper. Your list of extracurriculars is ever expanding I see,” he teases, deadpan.

 

“Hey, Jughead.” He’s smiling down at her, just the faintest of smiles quirking the corner of her lips in such a way that she can’t help but return it, despite his obvious jibe.

 

“Care to participate?” Veronica cuts in, holding out a test sheet. Jughead eyes it warily, leaning over to read the header. “All proceeds go to a good cause.”

 

“What cause is that?” Jughead queries.

 

“Funds for the Sadie Hawkins dance,” Veronica answers cheerfully, her expression not even twitching when Jughead scoffs.

 

“And you think I’m the kind of guy who would willingly contribute to something as trivially pointless as a school dance? Let alone have the spare change to,” he comments dryly. Betty wishes she could chastise Veronica further, but she can’t think of a subtle enough way to do it; stepping on her foot under the table isn’t worth risking her friend’s wrath if she scuffs the leather of her shoes.

 

“You never know, Holden Caulfield. You could find your soulmate,” Veronica says dramatically, undeterred by his sour attitude. “Here.” She pulls out a couple of bills and puts them in the jar in front of her. “Call it an act of goodwill.”

 

“So now I’m a charity case?” Jughead challenges and Betty wishes the ground would just swallow her whole.

 

“Oh, don’t take everything so to heart. It’s just a bit of fun. Think of it as my way of helping you to assimilate better into the Riverdale High environment. Your pal Sweet Pea wasn’t so resistant,” she quirks a knowing brow.

 

“Sweet Pea took this thing?” Jughead’s shock is apparent.

 

“I may have been able to persuade him,” Veronica replies with a glint.

 

Jughead regards her for a moment, looking her up and down openly. “Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he sighs after a moment. “He’s got a weak disposition when it comes to brunettes.”

 

Veronica beams. “Blondes more your speed?”

 

Betty finally finds her voice, choosing that moment to cut in and save herself more embarrassment. “Come on, Jughead, it’s just some dumb quiz. I will if you will,” she taunts, slipping her completed test into the box on the table. That smirk returns, a dimple appearing on just one of his cheeks as he plucks the pen from between her fingers. She wonders if he felt the warmth where their skin touched as intensely as she did.

 

“You’re an enigma, Cooper,” he relents, hastily filling in his answers. “See you at the paper.”

 

“I didn’t say you were _on_ the paper yet,” Betty reminds him quickly, not giving in and telling him that the pieces he’d sent her the other day were actually pretty good. He doesn’t reply, throwing a toothy grin over his shoulder as he walks away.

 

“ _Swoon!_ ” Veronica sighs once he’s left the hallway, fanning herself with a stack of tests. “He’d be total putty in your hands, B. If you wanted him, of course.” 

 

“You’re seeing things,” Betty grumbles, cursing the fluttering in the pit of her stomach. It seemed to be materialising a lot lately. It was just that _smile_ —it did things to her. Wonderful, hard to ignore things.

 

She needs some air.

.

.

.

Betty stares at her test results with something between bewilderment and horror. _This had to be some kind of joke_.

 

“Veronica, you did this on purpose!” she accuses, flapping the offending black and white sheet in front of the girl’s face, catching her just before the end of the school day.

 

“What, what?!” Veronica repeats, swatting the paper out of her face. She yanks it out of Betty’s hands, perusing the contents swiftly, smirk growing with each passing second.

 

“That’s not me, B—that’s science.” She looks smugly triumphant and it irks Betty even further.

 

“How can you expect me to believe that you didn’t… _fix_ this?” she squeaks, bringing her eyes back to the undeniably bold script, typed in fourteen point font. _Top Match: Jughead Jones_ , followed by a three digit locker number. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. That would mean too many coincidences and Betty didn’t believe in coincidences. She believed in certainty, brought about by precise planning and clear forethought. And devious scheming, it seemed, where Veronica was concerned.

 

“And break the sacred rules of the compatibility test? It would throw the whole algorithm off,” she dismisses quickly, shutting her locker door with an air of finality. “Your soulmate comes wrapped in aged leather and sarcastic wit and now no one can deny it. Not even you!” Veronica beams.

 

“You said it yourself, Betty,” she sighs when Betty’s horrified expression doesn’t dim. “It’s just a bit of fun. So have some. Fun.” She presses her hand to Betty’s upper arm gently before she’s skipping towards the exit and away from her stunned friend.

 

_Fun_.

 

She was fun, Betty thinks defiantly. She had fun all the time.

 

A montage of studying, after school activities, seats on committees, and organised family days out plays before her eyes.

 

“Oh, god,” she groans, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth and stalking towards the Blue and Gold office.

 

She stops short in the doorway, the office not as empty as she expected it to be. Jughead Jones is sprawled in the chair next to her desk, his sneakers propped up on the corner, a toothpick twirling between his teeth; annoyingly distracting is the only way she can think to describe the movement.

 

He turns upon her approach, taking the pick out and twisting it around nimble fingers.

 

“Jughead!” she almost yells in surprise, hand flying out her chest. “You scared me.”

 

“Scared?” he presses, dropping his feet to the floor.

 

“Surprised,” Betty corrects, smoothing a hand down the front of her sweater. “What are you doing here?” She turns away to hide the hammering of her heart in her chest, which she’s sure is clearly visible through the thin cotton-wool blend covering it.

 

“You’re really going to keep this up?” Betty looks at him over the top of her computer monitor, shaking her head in confusion. “That you’re not going to let me write for the Blue and Gold—I know you read the stuff I sent you,” Jughead smirks.

 

“Awful full of yourself to think that I _liked_ it just because I’ve read it,” she mutters sourly, tucking her chair securely under her desk, fingers poised over the keyboard while she waits for the ancient system to boot up. He’s not said anything about the test yet, for which she’s thankful, but his gentle riling has it pushed to the back of her own mind anyway.

 

“Come on, Cooper. Don’t make me beg,” he laughs, perching on the edge of her desk.

 

“Would you?” she asks, suddenly curious. He doesn’t seem the type. But then again, he does seem the type that’s used to having people give him what he wants simply through wit and a sort of passive intimidation.

 

He regards her quizzically for a moment, neither of them saying anything. A tension builds in the air that has Betty pulling in a deep breath through her nose, an unusual tightness squeezing her chest beneath his unblinking gaze. His blank expression is eclipsed by a grin in the next second.

 

“I don’t know; I’ve never had a _soulmate_ before. Who could say what they’d get me to do?” He’s teasing her and it fans the spark of embarrassment waiting to set her cheeks aflame.

 

“You got your results,” Betty gets out from between slightly gritted teeth, logging into her school account for a reason to avert her eyes.

 

“Considering you know what I’m talking about, I’d chance that you got yours too,” Jughead returns, sliding a bit closer to her. Betty shoots out of her seat, walking brusquely over to the filing cabinet in the corner.

 

“You know it’s complete garbage,” she tries to sound offhand but it comes out closer to strangled.

 

“Two dollars doesn’t get me true love? I don’t believe it,” he drawls, following her across the room. She throws him a disapproving look.

 

“No,” she replies slowly, resting a hand on her hip. “The fact that we simply have an eighty percent _zodiac compatibility_ doesn’t get you true love,” Betty snarks, scrunching her nose as she remembers the statistic from the sheet now shoved in her locker.

 

Jughead huffs an amused laugh. “Yeah, okay, that one’s a stretch.”

 

When Betty lifts her eyes to look back at his face she doesn’t expect the gentle edge to the smile that’s twitching on his lips.

 

“I mean,” she swallows, a joke bouncing on the tip of her tongue. “There’s a whole extraneous twenty percent there. That’s a lot of room for adjustment,” she murmurs slyly. The smile he’s wearing creeps up and reaches Jughead’s eyes, and a swell of satisfaction blooms in her chest. “Fine, you can write for the paper,” she sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair that has managed to escape her updo behind her ear. “The stuff you sent over to me was really good, Jughead.”

 

“Really?” Despite his constant self-assurance, Jughead seems genuinely surprised. It’s frustratingly endearing, the way his shoulders deflate and his edges soften. He looks less creased, somehow, and younger in that second.

 

Betty nods, catching the corner of her lip between her teeth bashfully. She watches his eyes focus in on the action. There’s an ache in her fingers that tries to push her to cup his cheek, but she curls them towards her palms instead to keep the urge at bay. Clearing her throat quietly she steps out of the bubble of tension surrounding them, back towards her desk.

 

“Thank you. And, look, I’m sorry,” Jughead starts, tentatively sitting at the desk beside hers, booting up his own computer. At her puzzled expression he continues, “that you didn’t get someone else as your match for that stupid test.” Betty can’t be sure but she thinks he’s purposefully avoiding her gaze, and the tips of his ears might be turning pink beneath the rim of his hat. She doesn’t reply for a moment, her lips parted in surprise.

 

“Like you said, it’s just a stupid test. I wasn’t looking for _true love_ or anything,” Betty replies with a light roll of her eyes and a dismissive giggle. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, his expression amused. “But who knows,” she continues after a breath. _Fun_ , Veronica’s voice echoes in her ears. “You might be a catch.”

 

She thinks she hears him splutter and presses her lips together to suppress a laugh.

 

“That’s me, Cooper. A regular diamond in the rough,” he retorts once he’s found his voice again, stretching his hands behind his head. The hem of his shirt rides up, revealing a smooth rectangle of skin, interrupted only by the dark line of hair disappearing into the waist of his jeans…

 

Betty averts her eyes quickly, trying to focus on something— _anything_ —else.

 

“Aren’t I just the luckiest? He’s modest too,” she fires back, crossing her legs neatly at the ankles.

 

Jughead’s eyes are positively gleaming as he replies, “Oh, don’t worry, honey, there’s enough affection left for you after I’m done loving myself.”

 

Betty can’t contain the laugh that bursts from her lips, the sound only increasing after she hears Jughead joining in.

 

By the time they’re finishing up for the day, Betty’s footsteps feel deliciously light, a strange spinning continuing in her head that makes her feel dizzy, but not unpleasantly so.

 

“See you tomorrow, Cooper,” Jughead waves as he walks towards the motorcycle parked in the almost empty lot. She can’t deny the feeling of disappointment that washes over her that the teasing terms of endearment from earlier have stopped, but she doesn’t let it show on her face as she smiles and waves back.

  
_Well,_ she thinks as she begins the walk home, _this could be dangerous_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all the lovely comments and kudos left on the first chapter of this I'm overwhelmed by how much you liked it. This also took waaaaay longer to get up than anticipated but sometimes it just can't be helped, I'm afraid. I hope you enjoy this just as much (and you may have noticed the chapter count has gone up - this isn't the end!) <3

“Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”

 

Jughead’s gut clenches as the overly-sugary greeting floats over the top of his computer screen, bittersweet in the way it reaches his ears.

 

He supposes he only has himself to blame. He _had_ started it after all. One slip of the tongue and a teasing ‘honey’ later and he’d started a tradition that he both loved and loathed.

 

The terms of endearment exchanged between him and Betty on an almost daily basis were laced with sarcasm—with the gentle ribbing that had coated their friendship from the start. But that was just the problem. Watching the way her tongue rest against the back of her teeth as she grinned at him, unhooking her ponytail from where it had caught in the strap of her backpack, sent a swoop through Jughead’s stomach that made him feel like the floor was going to drop out from under him.

 

“As well as can be expected, green eyes,” he returns back with a world-weary sigh. _It would have been better with you by my side_. Or, something as equally embarrassing, and truthful. He’d been so close to letting a ‘baby’ slip out a few times now, but that felt far too real for the retro role play they’d assumed. At least ‘green eyes’ was factual. “My editor has really been on my case, lately,” he continues on, shooting her a flat look.

 

Betty’s lips twitch against a smile. “Oh?” she feigns ignorance.

 

“Mhm,” Jughead hums, “she’s a real hardass.”

 

“Well, if it weren’t for your overuse of the semicolon she wouldn’t have to be…” Betty replies breezily, that megawatt smile finding its way onto her features. Even in jest, Jughead thinks it’s too early for that kind of enthused expression; but he’s come to learn that when it comes to Betty Cooper, faking it is a well-practised art.

 

There was no mistaking that Betty was one of the most genuine people he’d ever met. It was almost disconcerting just how much she seemed to care about things, about people, and the earnestness in some of her expressions was enough to make his chest physically hurt on occasion. But, there was a crack in every facade, and he’d find himself catching the look _in between_ the smiles and the comfort—for just a millisecond between the two, there would be something else. Her bright eyes would dim, and her cheeks would sallow, and she seemed so much smaller than she had before. And then, quickly, it would snap right back into place as if it were never gone to begin with.

 

Jughead is well aware that she doesn’t know he’s seen the way she clenches her fists sometimes. Be it frustration, or hurt, or something else he can’t even begin to fathom; she’d reached across his desk to grab one of the printouts for editing and he’d seen them, lined up like soldiers across her palms—tiny, crescent-shaped scars, just the right size to let Betty’s nails find home in them. He’d nearly missed what she was saying to him, dropping himself back into their conversation as smoothly as he could, shaking himself out of his discomfort for her in time to quell any suspicion. What he’d wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and press her face against his neck, whisper that he’d take out anything that made her feel like that, anything that hurt her.

 

Even when he’d been snappy with her on that first meeting—and what a fateful meeting it had been—she’d still _tried_ with him, and that at least is enough to let Jughead know that Betty Cooper is worth the world.

 

He’d been waiting for a text, a call, something, about his dad’s hearing. He sat in the trailer, knee bouncing incessantly, fingers steepled across his lips, barely paying attention to whatever crap was currently coming across the static of the TV. Eventually, Jughead sighed, stomping over to his jacket strewn across the kitchen chair, searching the pockets for his phone. When it wasn’t there he hadn’t panicked, instead trying his bag—then he panicked. He had no idea where he could have lost it, or _how_. Sure, he’d been a little distracted as of late, with the transfer, and the arrest, and everything. But he couldn’t be as stupid as to just leave his phone somewhere; he’d grown up around enough petty theft to know how to keep his belongings safe.

 

“Fuck!” he’d cursed, kicking the chair across the floor, pulling his hat off to drag a terse hand through his hair. The journey to The Wyrm had been quick on his bike, scrounged change from the bowl by the door paying for the one working pay phone to make a call.

 

The voice that answered had been soft and hesitant, not what he’d been expecting. In fact, he hadn’t really been expecting a reply at all. The relief in his voice must have been evident, even with his shortness. But then her name had made him pause.

 

 _Betty Cooper_.

 

He knew it, for more than one reason. He knew the Coopers, more than likely a relation in a town this size, ran the town’s paper. It had its fair share of scathing things to say about the southside, especially the Serpents, on more than one occasion. Usually it was unprovoked too—not _always_ unprovoked, but enough, Jughead thought, to be unfair. They were always good at being the scapegoat for the town’s problems.

 

He also knew her to be the editor of the school’s paper, the Blue and Gold. It had been one of the first things he’d looked into upon reluctantly making the move over from a recently euthanized Southside High. He needed something to make it feel like he wasn’t drowning in a sea of pep and dirty looks. Everything was too bright, too clean. Being able to write with a purpose was the only thing he could think of to use as a kind of lifeboat.

 

And then he’d swung round the doorframe of the newspaper’s office and realised that he knew her for another reason, besides her name. Jughead had seen her in the halls, all blonde ponytail and pink sweaters. Not just in Riverdale High, but Southside too. Jughead thinks it was some kind of tutoring programme that she’d been a part of. He recognises her, which isn’t all that uncommon. He likes to people watch, comes with a writer’s territory, especially when your subject is the town you live in. But it’s more than that, he _remembers_ her.

 

He remembers the way she looks at the world, all wide-eyed and wondering, how she wandered through the halls of Southside with a blissful kind of willingness to ignore all the looks that were being thrown her way. Betty, for all intents and purposes, looked like a quintessential Northsider, but the way she carried herself in his school? She didn’t think herself above any of them, the way a lot of the people he’s encountered did. They certainly had a way of making him feel _beneath_ them now he was on their territory. But not Betty Cooper.

 

Whether she doesn’t subscribe to the hierarchy of a town-wide territory divide, or is just plain unaware (though he doesn’t believe her to be ignorant), Jughead found becoming friends with Betty as easy as breathing. It was stopping at simply that that was the hard part.

 

“You leave the semicolon out of this. I’ll have you know that it’s a severely underappreciated form of punctuation and I’m just trying to make it feel included,” Jughead grins, lacing his fingers over his stomach. Betty shakes her head, sneaking glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she loads up the current version of the next issue on her screen, lips pursed with barely concealed amusement.

 

If Jughead believed himself to be lucky (he didn’t), he’d also think he saw a bit of something else in that look, fondness maybe, or even attraction.

 

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s in a gang, for crying out loud. He should be able to be a bit more apparent with his flirting than this. Despite always being on the more reserved side of the spectrum, Jughead didn’t usually let fear get in the way of his intentions. He should be able to ask out a cheerleader.

 

But, he sighs internally, it isn’t just a cheerleader. It’s Betty. The epitome of squeaky clean class president. A rejection from her might just make the rest of his days at Riverdale High more unbearable than they already are. He has to take what he can get instead. If Betty happened to give some kind of concrete evidence that she was into him as something _more_ , then maybe he’d rethink…

 

After all, they were _soulmates_.

 

Just as the memory of that inane quiz he filled out, that has stated the laws of matchmaking required him and Betty to be together, flits before his eyes two things happen.

 

Betty says, “Um, Jug?”

 

And the door to the office bursts open, thanks to the force that is Hurricane Lodge. “Alright, Snake Plisskin. What did you and your band of merry men do with it?” Veronica demands, without preamble, hands firmly on her hips.

 

Betty’s lips have dropped open in shock when he turns his startled gaze between her and her best friend now jabbing an accusing finger at him.

 

“And don’t even try to deny it, because I know it was you,” she tacks on, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to disagree. It rubs him the wrong way, having spent enough of his youth already taking the blame for things he hasn’t done. Jughead stands slowly, folding his arms over his chest as his rearranges his face into a stern scowl.

 

“Mind telling me exactly what I did before you dish out the sentence, Veronica?” His voice is hard, not giving an inch.

 

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Serpent Prince. Someone has stolen the funds for the Sadie Hawkin’s dance from my campaign, and considering that the Southsiders have made it abundantly clear that they’re lacking in school spirit, who else could it have been?” Veronica lifts her hands sarcastically, letting them fall to her sides with a sharp slap.

 

“V, you don’t know that it was them,” Betty jumps in quickly, shooting a brief glance at Jughead before she attempts to play placater.

 

“I don’t know it _wasn’t_ ,” Veronica challenges, eyes never leaving Jughead’s as if she thinks he’s going to make a run for it. “This crime has got their scales all over it.”

 

“Gee, is this what entitlement looks like up close? Because I have to say I don’t think I care for it,” Jughead grits out, lifting a foot to take a step closer to her. He doesn’t normally like to use intimidation tactics but he’s had about enough of snobbish Northsiders looking down on him and his friends.

 

A warm hand plants itself on his chest, small but firm. Jughead feels himself visibly soften as he looks down at Betty’s worried, warning expression, his shoulders deflating after a second. “Both of you need to just cool off for a second,” she commands, a wrinkle across her forehead.

 

“Okay,” she says, brightly but still with a hint of wariness. “Now, let’s just think through the options for a second. Juggie,” Betty turns back to him, her hand still burning through his shirt, eyes imploring.

 

That’s another thing she’s started doing that makes his stomach somersault. _Juggie_. It’s a nickname he’s used to, but there’s just something about the way it sounds falling from Betty’s lips that makes his knees feel uncharacteristically weak.

 

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly; Betty nods back. There it was—that earnestness.

 

“If Jughead says the Serpents didn’t do it, then I believe him,” Betty says evenly, plainly ignoring the way Veronica balks at her. She powers on before she can voice any complaint. Jughead’s chest still feels warm, even though Betty’s already moved her hand. Inexplicable trust isn’t something he’s had a lot of experience with. “Maybe it was Cheryl? She is your only rival, after all,” she suggests lightly.

 

“Oh, please,” Veronica dismisses with a flick of her wrist. “If it was Cheryl she would have left a lipstick kiss printed on a napkin in place of the money—Blossom red, as good as signing her crime.” Her eyes travel over Betty’s head, narrowing as they reach Jughead’s. “But snakes can be a little more stealthy,” she nearly hisses.

 

Jughead feels hot all over. It’s not even that she’s accusing him; she’s accusing the Serpents—plural, collective, whatever. She’s generalising, and with no good reason other than the immoral compass of Riverdale always pointing due south.

 

“Veronica.” Betty’s voice is sharp and leaves no room for argument. Both pairs of eyes turn to her in shock. Jughead watches as some kind of silent conversation takes place between the two girls in front of him, utterly surprised when Veronica sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically.

 

“Fine,” she all but whines to Betty, closing her eyes as if to compose herself before straightening and addressing him again.

 

“Jughead. I’m sorry for accusing you of this tawdry business without just cause,” she apologises. “It was wrong of me and I _humbly_ ask for your forgiveness.” She sounds a little reluctant but Jughead is too astonished to really notice. He blinks at Betty, only snapping out of his daze when she tilts her head towards Veronica.

 

“Right. Thanks, I guess. For the apology. Your delivery could use a little work…” Betty’s elbow jab cuts him off.

 

“If you want, Jughead and I could look into it for you? See if we could find some kind of trail to follow,” Betty offers.

 

“We could?” Jughead smirks at her.

 

“We could,” she confirms sweetly, with just a little edge.

 

At this, Veronica visibly brightens. “Wonderful! You’re a lifesaver, B.” She smooths out her skirt. “And, just on the off chance that he _does_ know something—not that I’m saying he will—I’m going to go and shake down your friend, Sweet Pea,” Veronica all but winks, the implication heavy in her voice.

 

“By shake down you mean…” He almost immediately regrets asking.

 

This time she does wink. Jughead shudders.

 

After Veronica rounds the corner, Jughead turns on Betty, softness back in his eyes. She’s blinking up at him innocently, completely unaware of what she’s just done for him, and how easy she made it seem. He’s so close to just leaning down, cupping the back of her neck with his palm, and capturing her lips with his. Instead he just says, “Hey, Nancy Drew. What’s this about us following a money trail?”

 

Betty’s grin intensifies. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t you want to stretch those investigative journalism muscles of yours? I’ll let you be my Hardy Boy.” She catches her tongue between her teeth.

 

Jughead almost swallows _his_ tongue.

.

.

.

“So, I had an interesting conversation in study hall today,” Sweet Pea begins as he sits down at the bar. Jughead looks up from where he’s bussing a table, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder.

 

“Fangs try to explain the merits of Gryphons and Gargoyles to you again?” Jughead shoots as he deposits empty glasses behind the bar.

 

“I said _interesting_ , Jones,” Sweet Pea rolls his eyes. “It was with a certain heiress.” Jughead freezes, remembering Veronica’s parting words. He spins around, levelling Sweet Pea with a look.

 

“What did she say? Did she accuse you of something?” he asks lowly.

 

Sweet Pea just smirks. “A thing or two,” he offers cryptically.

 

“Seriously, Sweets? The daughter of Hiram Lodge?” he asks incredulously.

 

“Hey, I never said I had standards,” he shrugs, slapping a hand on the counter. There’s a beat before he continues. “She’s kinda gorgeous though, really.” His voice has dropped an octave and he’s rolling a coaster over the bar top absently. Jughead thinks if the light were any better inside The Wyrm he’d be able to see the faintest patches of red adorning Sweet Pea’s cheeks—that’s a new development. “And confident. She just marched straight up to me and demanded to know whether I stole something from her.”

 

“How romantic,” Jughead says sarcastically.

 

“Which takes some guts for someone that small. For a short stack she’s pretty intimidating. And, hey, have you seen the size of those heels she wears? Everyday? How is she even still walking?”

 

“Sweet Pea,” Jughead starts, levelling him with a curious look. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s awe in your tone right now.”

 

Sweet Pea straightens on his stool, rolling his shoulders back and tipping his chin indignantly. “Yeah, well when I told her that she had no business accusing the Serpents of things without proof she said she was just double checking or some shit. That some girl called Betty already had my best friend ‘wrapped around her ponytail’.” Now it’s Jughead’s turn to burn with embarrassment.

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, shooting for nonchalant and hitting defensive.

 

“I think I know who she means. It’s that chick on the paper, right? The cheerleader you can’t stop staring at when you think no one’s looking.” There’s something frustratingly smug in Sweet Pea’s voice and he can’t bring himself to meet his eye. “Toni’s got bets going for how long it’ll take before you combust.”

 

“Toni needs to mind her own damn business,” Jughead grumbles, drying a glass more harshly than necessary.

 

“So?”

 

“So, what?”

 

“You asked her out yet?”

 

Jughead sighs. For all his bravado (ninety-nine percent of which Jughead is sure is all height) Sweet Pea has his moments of being surprisingly sensitive and in-tune with people’s _feelings_.

 

“No, I have not,” Jughead replies firmly, hoping that will shut down the rest of Sweet Pea’s enquiry; it doesn’t.

 

“Why not?” he says like it’s simple. Jughead looks at him like he’s lost a few brain cells.

 

“Because, Sweets, in case you forgot we’re not exactly the poster boys for Riverdale. Girls like Betty Cooper—and Veronica Lodge, for that matter—don’t go out with guys like us.”

 

“Who says?” Sweet Pea fires back stubbornly.

 

“Um, everyone. Have you been listening to me?”

 

“The only opinion that should matter is the girl you’re asking out, Jones. I’d think someone with so many booksmarts could figure that one out on his own,” he quips. He continues, “And, for the record, I’ve caught her staring back at you just as often.” He raises a brow in a way that makes Jughead think he’s already absorbed too much of Veronica's personality simply by osmosis.

 

Jughead tries to stop the hopeful swoop in his stomach after Sweet Pea’s imparting of information, but any attempt is futile. He _knows_ he should just ask Betty if she wanted to maybe go to Pop’s or something. It was casual enough that he could play it off if she freaked out, but date-like enough to find out how she felt. If it weren’t for his insatiable desire to preserve his pride, this would be a whole lot easier.

 

“Also, you better find out who took the cash, because I have a date to the dance riding on it,” Sweet Pea grins before he hops up and heads towards the pool table. Jughead stares after him, lips agape before they draw together into a scowl.

 

“I hope you’re already working on a colour scheme for you outfit,” Jughead calls after him bitterly.

 

“It’s purple and silver!” Sweet Pea yells back, unfazed. “Get your head outta your ass, Jones.”

.

.

.

“Juggie, would you like to go to Pop’s with me after school?”

 

Betty had beaten him to the punch. She’d knocked his feet from under him and then expected him to choose a path to walk down: friend thing or date thing? Her expression didn’t give her intentions away at all. But then again, did they really matter?

 

“I… err, s-sure. Sounds good,” he stammers, gripping the door to his locker while mentally cursing his inability to be smooth. He thinks he’s hesitated for too long before Betty begins to colour.

 

“Well, what do you know? The hobo’s gunning for a bride.” The voice that cuts through the hall sends his shoulders shooting up towards his ears. They turn simultaneously, catching Cheryl’s smirk as she insults and runs. Or, more accurately, saunters. “Just so you know, Betty, being a Vixen comes with maintaining a certain image. Enjoy your meal.”

 

Jughead looks back at Betty in time to see her rolling her eyes. “Do you think her horns are retractable or they just sawed them off at birth?” he jokes, shuddering for full effect.

 

She gives him a disapproving look, as if she hasn’t just been insulted by the she-devil in question and Jughead tilts his head disbelievingly at her.

 

“Well, at least the plan worked,” she tells him firmly.

 

“Plan?” Jughead asks, furrowing his brow.

 

“Cheryl overheard us making plans to go to Pop’s after school.” Jughead’s stomach drops, unpleasantly this time.

 

“I’m sensing we’re not,” he says quietly. Betty’s already shaking her head.

 

“I thought if Cheryl believed we were leaving right after practice she wouldn’t think we’d be here snooping around.” Jughead is most definitely lost.

 

“Huh?” he huffs ineloquently.

 

“No matter what Veronica thinks, I’m still putting my money on Cheryl being our culprit for the theft—it just makes sense,” Betty explains, ducking her head in towards his so she can lower her voice. A delicate hand comes up to rest on his upper arm and Jughead fights the urge to tense. “And she has the head cheerleader’s keys to the gym so she can lock up after we’re done. It gives her access to the school after closing!” Betty explains enthusiastically.

 

“So, why does she need to think we’re gonna be at Pop’s when we’re not gonna be at Pop’s?” Jughead isn’t sure if he’s more disappointed about the lack of ‘date’ time with Betty, or the lack of greasy diner food.

 

“It gives us an alibi. Cheryl’s been staying later than the rest of us to work on choreography. We’re gonna see if she’s been doing anything _else_ while she’s here. And if she’s not we move onto the next possible culprit,” Betty whispers conspiratorially, lifting one corner of her mouth in a satisfied smile.

 

“Okay…” Jughead says slowly, his heart thumping faster than usual as he thinks out his next words carefully. “But, if I’m going in on this plan then I should be entitled to some kind of payment,” he hedges, hoping she can’t hear his pulse as loudly as he can.

 

Betty narrows her eyes in playful suspicion. “What?”

 

“We _actually_ go to Pop’s after,” Jughead grins, crossing his ankles as he leans against the row of lockers to his left. Betty lets out a chiming laugh that has his smile growing. His eyes follow the column of his neck as she throws her head back, imagining what it’d be like to suck a bruise into the expanse of unblemished skin.

 

“Okay, Juggie,” she finally says through residual chuckles. “It’s a date.”

 

 _Is it?_ Jughead thinks hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

_ It’s a date _ .

 

Why,  _ why _ , had she said that to him?

 

But he had looked…  _ happy _ when she’d said that, right? Like he’d  _ hoped _ it would be a date? Betty was well aware of the camaraderie, bordering on flirtation, that they’d developed since she’d let Jughead join the paper, but maybe the tension that she felt between them was all one sided, in her head. 

 

Or maybe it was just how he was with people, and she was just another casual interaction. The thought passes as quickly as it comes, because Betty knows it isn’t true. Although, there is something small niggling at the back of her mind that refuses to abate, telling her that there’s no way that someone like Jughead would be interested in anything more with her. She’d seen the kind of girls he hung around with—like his friend, Toni, with the pink hair and belly button piercing—and why would he choose her when there were so many more interesting girls right on his doorstep? 

 

But… Betty’s usually one for playing by the rules, as they were written, and Veronica  _ had _ said that the compatibility test was law. Who is she to question the laws of fate? 

 

She shakes her head angrily, trying to dislodge the ridiculous justifications for all her hopes from her head. A serial overthinker, that’s what she was, above all else. 

 

The day drags, as is always the case when looking forward to something. Betty’s leg refuses to stay still as she watches the clock tick down to the end of the school day, foot bouncing in her Keds. 

 

Her leap from her chair is almost simultaneous with the start of the final bell, but Miss Grundy stops the class, holding them a moment longer to explain the assignment due next week. After she hurries as daintily as she can towards the Blue and Gold office to meet Jughead. 

 

Her excitement, of course, is this thrilling foray into a proper investigation, and definitely  _ not  _ because she’s going to see Jughead again in a few moments. It wasn’t everyday that you got to look into something during school hours that wasn’t the mysterious case of the missing AV tapes. Betty takes a moment to collect herself on the other side of the door, running a hand down the front of her sweater before pushing it open. 

 

Jughead’s already waiting inside, spread out on the old collapsed couch in the corner of the office. His ankles are crossed, feet hanging over the arm, hands tossing a wad of crumpled paper into the air repeatedly. He looks so casual and relaxed, all soft cotton t-shirts and worn leather boots that Betty can’t help but imagine draping herself along the length of his body, fitting herself to every dip and curve. It’s such a startlingly strong image, that has something between her belly and her thighs humming contentedly, that she stops short in the middle of the room. 

 

“Everything okay?” Jughead asks, lifting his head and halting his makeshift game of catch. 

 

“Mhm,” Betty hums, trying to swallow past the dryness in her throat as discreetly as possible. “Yep, everything’s great! We’re all set. We should probably wait a while to give everyone time to clear out before we go in search of evidence against Cheryl.”

 

“Roger that.” Jughead says, tipping his head back against the cushions and resuming his game. 

 

Betty hovers by the big windows that look over the parking lot. It’s clearing out now, most of the cars left just in the faculty spaces, and a couple of bikes padlocked to the rack. She spots Jughead’s motorcycle standing out amongst everything, tilted on its stand next to a gaudy neon green bicycle.

 

“Come on,” Betty commands on a whim. She marches purposefully towards the supply closet in the corner and wrenches the door open without further thought. 

 

“What?” Jughead asks, a hint of amusement lifting the corner of his mouth, narrowed eyes flicking between her warming face and the open closet. 

 

“Cheryl heard us making plans to go to Pop’s after school. What if she gets suspicious and comes to check if we’re really there. To be on the safe side it would be better if we hid in here until we’re sure she’s otherwise occupied,” Betty justifies, lifting her chin slightly. It had made sense in her head. 

 

Now it’s starting to sound ridiculous, even to her own ears, and she’s considering trying to preserve what’s left of her pride by telling him she was joking when Jughead gets to his feet with a soft grunt. 

 

“You’re something else, Cooper,” he smiles with a fond shake of his head, trudging past her and into the supply closet without another word. She looks after him, mouth agape for a second too long, before following behind and shutting the door. 

 

The air seems much thicker inside the closet than it had done outside. It smells of pencil shavings and printer ink and moth balls, but she can also smell the appealing aroma emanating from Jughead himself, being in such close quarters. Betty swipes a finger across the corner of her mouth to check she isn’t doing something mortifying like actually drooling. 

 

“In a closet with Betty Cooper,” Jughead murmurs, so low he might not mean her to hear it. “Just let me know when my seven minutes are up.” His eyes are sparkling in amusement. 

 

“Shut up,” she scoffs at him, but his words are already busy conjuring up the imagine of his hands spanning the dip of her waist, walking her backwards until she can feel the shelves in the ridges of her spin, dipping his head to the hollow of her throat… 

 

The air is definitely thicker. 

 

“Didn’t bring any entertainment did you? Or food? I bet you have snacks in that bag of yours,” he teases, eyeing her backpack with interest.

 

She rolls her eyes but pulls out her emergency granola bar from the side pocket anyway. “Here,” she says, lowering herself to where he’s unceremoniously planted himself on the floor. “And, look, there’s a pack of cards in here, what games do you know? If you say strip poker, I swear—”

 

“Whoa, Cooper. It’s gonna take a lot more than a game of cards for you to get my pants off,” Jughead cuts her off, holding up his hands. 

 

She wishes the closet had better air flow. 

.

.

.

“Rummy,” Jughead says for the fifth time in a row, throwing his flush hand down on the floor. They’ve been sitting cross-legged in the closet for at least half an hour now. The base of Betty’s spine is protesting about the hard floor beneath her, and her left foot is starting to go dead, trapped under her butt. And Jughead keeps getting all her cards, which only adds to her irritation.

 

“It works better with more than two people,” she grumbles, scooping up the whole deck to shuffle. He smirks at her and stretches his arms above his head, joints popping. 

 

“Whatever you say, baby.” 

 

Betty freezes, trying to keep her face from showing any evidence of the rapid fluttering currently swooping through her belly. In all their teasing, and pet-name-calling, he’s never called her baby. It’s not particularly an endearment she’s ever been fond of, but hearing it fall casually past his lips, low and soft in the stuffy air of a small two by four closet—well she can’t deny she  _ likes  _ it. 

 

And she wants to hear him say it again. Soon.

 

She’s halted in her attempts to figure out just how to get that to happen (or to come up with any response at all) by Jughead shucking off his Serpents’ jacket. He throws it aside; Betty tries to hide her smile with a bite to her lip when he surreptitiously tries to sniff himself—it’s gotten a little too warm in the closet for comfort, she’ll admit. 

 

Her eyes are drawn back to the bright emblem, staring up at her from the floor. 

 

“Do you…” she trails off, gathering her thoughts. 

 

“Go for it,” he encourages softly after a second of silence, following her eye line.

 

Betty scrunches her nose, trying to decide what she wants to ask before she asks it. “Okay, two things,” she settles on eventually. “Firstly, how did you get involved with the Serpents? And what is it that you have to… do?” She cringes as the syllable hangs in the air. 

 

The laugh that Jughead huffs is gentle and, Betty’s relieved to see, amused. “What, you didn’t take enough notes during  _ Grease _ ?” he ribs, gleam in his eye. She sends him a dry look. All mirth vanishes from his expression. “It was kind of an initiation by necessity.

 

“My home life hasn’t always been the best. I mean, my dad tries but he’s sick. He can’t always keep it together long enough to get a steady paycheck. The Serpents… they’re like a de facto family for some people on the southside. They’ll make sure you have enough pairs of socks, or a meal each night, or somewhere to go if things are rough at home. A lot of the older members run their own businesses—legit business,” he adds, like he’s had to clarify that many times before, “so they can help find midway employment if you’re looking for cash. You don’t have to ‘do’ anything—it’s just a place for support.” Jughead’s quiet but not shy, the pride he has for these people he’s made family clear in his voice. He finishes with a shrug.

 

Betty goes for a third question, not sure if he’ll answer this one. “When we met you said you were waiting for something on your phone, and it seemed like you were worried. Was it to do with your dad?”

 

He gives her a look that she can’t name, but it makes her insides flip. “Nothing gets past you does it, Cooper?” There’s nothing accusatory in his tone. 

 

“Rarely, if ever,” she gives a wry smile.

 

“My dad got arrested—DUI.” For the first time he sounds ashamed. “We didn’t have the money for bail, and I was waiting to hear when his court appearance was. It’s not the first time he’s been arrested for intoxication. He needs to be able to drive for the job he’s managed to get out by Seaside, but it’s not looking like he’ll have a license anytime soon.” 

 

Betty doesn’t want to pity him. Jughead doesn’t seem the type to like that kind of attention, but she can’t help but reach over and slide her hand into his. He chuckles, more out of embarrassment than anything, but locks his fingers with hers regardless. 

 

“Jughead… I know my family’s paper hasn’t always written the nicest things about the Serpents, or anyone from the southside for that matter. I’m so sorry.” In truth she’s mortified. Hearing straight from Jughead’s mouth the kind of family that this gang has given him only makes the guilt worse, churning uncomfortably in her stomach.

 

Not only that, but if they’ve been the ones raising him, they’ve done a pretty good job.  Betty has first hand experience with how caring and concerned Jughead can be towards those he cares about. She’s seen him comforting more than one fellow Southsider when days at Riverdale High have been hard for them, but it’s even closer than that. 

 

Betty had opened the draw to her desk in the Blue and Gold to see an old tobacco tin she definitely hadn’t put there resting on top of the miscellaneous stationary she kept. Opening it she’d found an array of bandaids and antiseptic wipes. The simple sight was enough to bring tears to her eyes but she blinked them back, hands curling around the marks she’d left on her palms reflexively. They hadn’t spoken about them but she’d noticed him notice her shame. And he hadn’t asked or prodded or looked at her with disgust. Instead he’d silently and unobtrusively offered help. Someone like that deserved good things. 

 

“Betty that’s… that’s nothing to do with you. You’re not to blame for the things that your family print in the paper. I saw you at Southside, you know. When you were there to tutor. That’s the kind of thing that speaks to your character, not your parents. I… had to learn that, too.” 

 

There’s so many emotions coursing through her right now, and she’s scared she might do something stupid like cry or, worse, kiss him. There’s an ache in the pit of her stomach telling her to throw every caution she’s ever had to the wind and just do it now—

 

The sound of the office door outside creaking open on its old hinges cuts through the silence. 

 

“Was that—” Jughead’s question is stopped abruptly by Betty slapping a palm over his mouth, widening her eyes and arranging her mouth into a shushing motion without actually letting any noise escape. His eyebrows are at his hairline over the top of her hand, but he stays silent as they both hold their breaths, listening. 

 

Light footsteps make their way slowly across the linoleum, rubber soles squeaking occasionally as the person shuffles their way through the office. It’s only when they see the shadow of feet beneath the crack in the door that Betty realises she’s practically in Jughead’s lap.

 

She’d shuffled up onto her knees to throw herself at him, purely for the purposes of making sure he didn’t blow their hideout. The warmth of his hand spread across her lower back burns through her sweater, and without it steadying her she’d definitely have fallen right into him, sprawled in any manner of mortifying positions. 

 

The footsteps pause for a second then hurry from the room. Betty hears the click of the door but waits for a minute longer, listening intently for any noise outside the closet. 

 

“Ugh, you animal!” she shrieks suddenly, effectively blowing their cover if anyone were still around to hear them. It works for breaking whatever tension—sad or sexual—had settled over them too. She shakes out her palm, wet with his spit and grimaces at the falsely sweet smile he’s giving her. “You can’t just go around  _ licking _ people.” 

 

“On the contrary,” is his only reply. To hide her embarrassment she clambers to her feet, hearing Jughead do the same, inappropriate thoughts buzzing incessantly. 

 

“Come on, or we’ll lose them,” Betty whisper-talks, looking both ways before stepping out of the closet and hurrying to the office door.

 

“Do you think it was Cheryl?” 

 

“No way—Cheryl Blossom hasn’t worn anything less than four inch heels since freshman year. No,” Betty muses, trying to concoct a new theory quickly, slightly disgruntled that she guessed wrong.

 

“She might have an accomplice,” Jughead suggests easily, keeping step with her as they wander the halls looking for signs of life. 

 

Betty stops short. “She definitely could! Making sure someone else would take the fall if she didn’t want to get caught is totally a Cheryl thing to do. I can’t believe I didn’t assume that.” 

 

“That’s why you need me, baby.” There it is again, that name. She hates it. 

 

_ God _ , she definitely doesn’t hate it. 

 

Someone’s coming down the hallway again, and whether it’s the echo of an endearment ringing in her ears, the fact that he’s standing so annoyingly close she can smell what soap he uses, or just fear of getting busted, Betty goes through every justification at a hundred miles per hour before she grabs two fistfuls his jacket and crashes his lips to hers. 

 

The surprised squeak Jughead makes barely registers through the pounding in her ears. And then he’s leaning into it, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other seeking the dip of her waist, lips gently prising hers apart to deepen the kiss. 

 

Betty can’t say it’s better than she thought because she’s been spending most of her time trying  _ not _ to think about what kissing Jughead might feel like. And there’s no fireworks or orchestral swelling going on inside her head. But the creak of leather as she tightens her hold on his lapels, the thrill of his palms touching different parts of her body all at once, and the bang of metal as he crowds her against the row of lockers behind them is enough to trigger a warmth in her chest that simply sighs  _ yes _ . 

 

“Oh. Um, sorry kids.” Betty might be embarrassed (both for the rampant PDA and for the fact she chases Jughead’s lips when he pulls away) but she’s too light headed to care. 

 

They turn in tandem to see the owner of the footsteps, Mr Svenson the janitor, standing awkwardly at the end of the hall. “I was never here,” he jokes, shaking his head as he pulls his trolley further into the bowels of the school. 

 

Betty only realises she’s still gripping onto Jughead’s jacket when she feels her hands start to cramp. Her fingers protest as they’re peeled away slowly, her makeout-induced flush deepening as Jughead tries to meet her gaze. 

 

“That was close,” she breathes, trying to inject some lightness into the moment. “Um, just Svenson though, so. Sorry about just throwing that on you, I thought it was the best way to seem unsuspicious.”

 

Jughead clears his throat. “Yeah, no. Good cover. A classic,” he jokes, but she thinks that maybe it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, you think it was just Svenson? Back in the office?” 

 

“Maybe. Though I didn’t hear him wheeling the trolley in there, did you?” 

 

“Don’t think so.”

 

Betty sighs. “Let’s head towards the gym anyway, cover all bases.”

 

“Lead the way.”

 

Their footsteps fall into a pattern as they go. Betty can’t help but feel like something has shifted between them, and not for the better. Jughead isn’t trying to coax her into a conversation, not even to goad or tease her—something that she’d never admit to him she actually likes. His head is down, focus on his feet, shoulders hunched like that day they first met in the office. It makes her stomach turn for an entirely different reason.  _ Is it possible for someone to be that repulsed by kissing her? _

 

He doesn’t utter a word until she reaches up to push open the door to the girl’s locker room. “Should I just wait for you here?” He’s already settled himself to lean against the wall opposite, one foot up behind him, head tipped back. 

 

Betty takes a breath, determined to break whatever weird spell has settled over them. “It’s after hours, no one will be here. Besides, I thought I  _ needed you, baby _ .” There’s a beat, but he can’t help the twitch of his lips, pushing lazily off the wall to follow her inside.

 

“Nice of you to admit it,” he mutters as he passes her, looking back in time to catch her eye roll.

 

Despite her assurance, Betty keeps her footsteps light in case anyone is around to hear them. “Cheryl’s locker is right over here,” she whispers, beckoning Jughead over. 

 

“You sure it won’t be in her normal locker?” Jughead asks, his voice just as low. 

 

“Cheryl’s more likely to keep anything incriminating here, it’s where she has the most access and no one would question her hanging around the gym more often than usual. Especially during Nationals season.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

Betty reaches up into her ponytail, sliding out a bobby pin from the underside. “Also, if we start here then I have a surefire way to get in. The gym lockers are locked with keys, not combinations,” she adds coyly, brandishing her makeshift lock pick. 

 

“You really are Nancy Drew, aren’t you?” Jughead chuckles, watching her work. Betty just shrugs, wait for the satisfying click.

 

“Got it.” 

 

It’s naive of her but Betty had hoped, on some level, that she’d swing open the door to find the wad of cash complete with a confession note, but they only thing that greets them is a change of clothes, some red lingerie that leave little to the imagination, some beauty products, and a waft of perfume that smells like sickly sweet cherries. 

 

“I’ll be honest I was expecting to trigger some kind of trap,” Jughead deadpans, peering over her shoulder.

 

“That wouldn’t be entirely out of character,” Betty agrees absently, pawing through the things. “I don’t think there’s anything here,” she sighs, unwilling to admit she has no clue where to go from here. She’s kind of wishing for the case of the missing AV tapes again.

 

“Wait, what’s that?” Jughead asks as she begins to close the door. He reaches up to pull something from the top shelf, completely out of her line of sight. A wooden carving is cupped in his palm, rough and unfinished. “What is that, a flower?”

 

“Cherry blossom.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “What, I like flowers.”

 

“I guess it’s kind of her namesake,” he muses. 

 

“Not her style though,” Betty squints. “The only rustic thing Cheryl Blossom likes is the million dollar kind that comes with a hot tub and room service. This is something else… remember what you said before, about an accomplice?” 

 

“Yeah,” he replies slowly. “You think you know who it is?”

 

“I could take a guess. The only person I know at school who would wittle a love letter is Dilton Doiley.” She paused. “I swear that ugly bike I saw still in the parking lot after school is his!”

 

Jughead recoils. “Doiley? That survivalist kid?”

 

“The very one.”

 

“And  _ Cheryl _ ? I didn’t see that one coming.” 

 

Betty’s getting excited now, leaning up on her toes as the pieces fall into their potential place. “But that makes it work. It makes him the perfect fall guy. She gets him to carry out her deeds by, I don’t know, pretending she’s interested in him and then if he were to get caught there’s hardly any way to trace it back to her. Who would believe Dilton if he said Cheryl Blossom was giving him the time of day, let alone more?” 

 

“You’re getting all of this from a hunch and a wooden flower,” Jughead says, his skepticism clear. 

 

Betty shoots him a challenging look. “You have an alternative theory?”

 

Jughead regards her momentarily, something dancing in his eyes, then leans in to match her stance. “Looks like we have an Adventure Scout to go shake down.” 

.

.

.

Betty’s never ridden on a motorcycle before—her mother would  _ die _ . And then come back from the dead to kill her. And, honestly, she’s not sure she cares for the actual riding part. Every part of the journey feels unstable, like one wrong move could see them toppling. And when Jughead stops helping her fasten his helmet (his  _ only  _ helmet, she tuts) to her head to remind her to lean  _ into _ the turns she gawks at him like he’s grown a second head. 

 

But although she could do without the death defying journey, she definitely wouldn’t mind more excuses to be pressed up against Jughead’s back, her hands crossed low over his abdomen, her cheek between his shoulder blades. That part she could get used to. 

 

Jughead had insisted they look for Dilton at Pop’s, although Betty’s certain he has ulterior motives for such a suggestion. Especially when, after a fruitless cursory glance, Jughead throws himself into one of the booths anyway and announces he cannot go on without sustenance. 

 

“Oh, however could I be taken in by your ploy?” Betty says with a dramatic sigh, pulling closer the vanilla milkshake that’s just been planted on the table before her. 

 

“Not as sharp as you thought, huh?” His lips curve around a fry. 

 

“Yeah,  _ sure _ .”

 

They eat in silence for a moment, Betty flicking glances towards Jughead while he’s distracted with food. The memory of that kiss is playing so heavily on her mind that she can still feel its pressure on her lips. Tingles run down the back of her neck as she remembers the feeling of his palm, cupped securely there. Something pleasant squirms in her belly and she ducks her head to her straw lest it show on her face. 

 

He’d seemed a little put out in the moments after, but maybe it was just surprise. Betty was aware she wasn’t the spontaneous type, and sure it was the circumstance more than anything that had pushed her into kissing him out of the blue like that—but was it really so unexpected? 

 

The more she thinks about it, it’s impossible that what was happening between them was all wishful thinking, it had to be. There were moments when Jughead would shut down, his face a blank slate, impenetrable when he felt backed into a corner or judged. The front that he used to navigate his days at Riverdale High was only so obvious to Betty because within the walls of the Blue and Gold she’s seen what was underneath it, the other Jughead. The one that cared about semicolons, and was proud of where he came from, and left bandaids in her draw on the off chance she’d need them. 

 

If it was true what everyone said about the snakes from the southside then she’d seen this one’s soft underbelly—and how he shielded it. 

 

Betty watches him dip a fry into his chocolate milkshake before throwing it into his mouth, catching her staring from across the table. 

 

“What?” he asks, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

“Nothing,” she replies softly, her voice almost lost in the sizzle of bacon grease and the hum of conversation, weaving with the jukebox melody. 

 

She’ll ask him to the dance, Betty decides. She’ll ask him and see what happens. She’ll deal with whatever happens but she wants to try.

 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jughead asks a few minutes later, pushing his plate away and resting his hands over his stomach contentedly. “I’m sure she didn’t give you much choice in the matter, but how did you become friends with Veronica anyway? She just doesn’t seem… She seems a lot,” he finishes with a grimace. 

 

Betty can’t help the laugh that escapes her. She knows he doesn’t say it to be cruel, given his experience of Veronica so far—it’s an understandable question. “Veronica can be a lot to handle, sure. You just have to know how. She’s very full on and used to getting what she wants, but if she’s your friend she’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you. It’s hard to do anything that she’ll judge you for, because she just wants you to be happy. Sometimes she decides to take that happiness into her own hands,” she chastises, “but in the end she wants what’s best for you.” Betty shrugs. It was easy describing her love for Veronica. 

 

Jughead mulls it over, nodding vaguely. “I can see that.” He’s staring at her so intently then, eyes fixed directly on hers in a way that makes it hard to break contact. She’s able to pick out the shades of blue in his eyes, ranging from cornflower in the middle to almost navy around the edges. 

 

Eventually he looks away and Betty lets out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Honestly though, she’s kind of intense. When she came storming into the office to yell at me I felt like the apocalypse had come,” he jokes, scratching at the back of his neck. 

 

Betty stills. “What what did you say?” 

 

Jughead looks stricken. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that—”

 

“Shh, no not that,” she holds up a hand. “The apocalypse?” She can practically feel the glimmer in her eyes as she looks back at him. “I know where Dilton might be.”

.

.

.

The ride out to Fox Forest doesn’t take long on Jughead’s bike, but they cut the engine at the perimeter and walk the rest of the way, hoping to minimise the noise of their arrival. 

 

“Dilton talked about this place all the time in eighth grade, after his uncle showed it to him. His secret bunker wasn’t a secret for long,” she explains with a roll of her eyes. “But I guess most people have forgotten about it by now.”

 

“Or weren’t listening,” Jughead mumbles, holding a bramble out of the way so Betty can duck beneath. She elbows him, biting back a smile but ultimately failing.

 

“It’s through here.” Betty points a few feet up ahead, the dip in the ground already visible. “Have you got your phone?” Jughead fishes around in his pocket, pulling it out to show her. “Get ready to record.” 

 

Jughead holds it steady as they crouch low to the ground, mindful of snapping twigs beneath their weight. Betty can hear him breathing near her ear, his head ducked so close to hers that it wouldn’t be hard to press her lips to his cheek. She shakes her head to clear it, focusing on the task at hand. 

 

Voices echo up from the tunnel, and Jughead hits record.

 

“Excellent work, Dilly.” 

 

“ _ Dilly? _ ” Jughead mouths to her, faking a gag. She hushes him silently, stifling a giggle into her sleeve.

 

“Veronica has no idea it was us who staged this little heist of her pitiful philanthropic efforts.” 

 

“I moved the cash box from my locker without anyone noticing, I just need to find a way to get it into that guy Sweet Pea’s when no one’s around,” comes Dilton’s response and Jughead visibly stiffens. 

 

“I hope that’s not going to be a problem for you,” Cheryl croons in that persuasive way of hers. 

 

“No,” Dilton replies quickly. “No, I already know how. Ben works in the front office during his free period and he can get access to the locker codes. For a price.”

 

“A price?”

 

“Yeah. Detective Comics #140. First appearance of The Riddler,” Dilton sighs, a hint of regret coating his words. 

 

“Oh, but I’m worth it, right?” Cheryl says, and there’s a brief silence that makes Betty shudder as her mind fills in the blanks. 

 

“T-Totally.” 

 

“Great! Let me know when you’ve completed your task and then we’ll talk some more,” Cheryl says with an air of finality. There’s the clanking of metal under heels and Betty tenses as a shadow comes into view at the bottom of the ladder. Moments later a head of bright red follows, looking up when she notices they’re not alone. 

 

Cheryl’s face is shadowed by Betty and Jughead leaning over the entrance, but her look of open-mouthed shock is still clear on the video Jughead’s taking. 

 

“Busted,” Jughead says with a grin. 

 

“Betty Cooper,” Cheryl seethes. “You’re going to be in so much hell when I’m through with you.” 

 

If Betty were alone she’d probably believe her. But the warmth from Jughead’s body is close and comforting as she smiles sweetly instead and says, “I don’t think so, Cheryl.” 

.

.

.

“So it turns out that Cheryl didn’t brag about her triumphant effort to cheat me out of my win because she was going to frame Sweet Pea!” Veronica tells Betty the next afternoon, her eyes wide with shock and something that looks like enjoyment. It turns out Veronica might just get as big a thrill out of a mystery as she does. Perhaps slightly less.

 

“Why would she even do that? I mean, I know Cheryl’s been known to stoop low but never to you,” Betty wrinkles her brow in confusion. 

 

“Simple,” Veronica replies with a flick of her wrist. “Jealousy.”

 

Betty’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “About what?” Cheryl is from one of the wealthiest families in town, she wants for practically nothing. To be fair, the only family that could rival hers is Veronica’s, but she never imagined this money theft could actually be about money. 

 

“Because I asked Sweet Pea to the Sadie Hawkins when she thought I was going to ask her,” Veronica sighs, a hint of remorse on her face. Betty’s eyebrows lift even higher. “I knew we were having fun but I didn’t realise she actually had feelings for me.” The remorse shifts to guilt. 

 

“Oh, V, I’m sorry,” Betty consoles, tucking her friend close with an arm around her shoulder. 

 

Veronica straightens, face brightening. “Oh well, all’s fair and all that. It was all very middle school of her. Anyway, word at the mill is that that new girl Toni has a thing for Cheryl. After she’d heard that she wasn’t  _ so _ distraught.” She rolls her eyes. “I promised not to tell Weatherbee she was the culprit of this petty theft so she could ask her to the dance instead, if she promised no more trickery until we graduate.” 

 

“Yeah, like that’ll happen,” Betty deadpans. Veronica laughs. 

 

“But now that all this nonsense is out of the way, we can focus on getting ready for the dance. I assume we  _ both _ have a southside someone to hang from our arms, yes?” Veronica wiggles her brows suggestively. 

 

Betty blows out a breath, face heating. “I used the information from the compatibility quiz and slipped a note in Jughead’s locker asking if he’d like to go with me,” she says shyly. Veronica’s squeal is piercing. “But he hasn’t said anything!” she hastens to add, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. 

 

Maybe she’d been wrong about Jughead’s reaction to their kiss after all—something she still hadn’t told Veronica about, and probably never would now that he seemed to be ignoring her. She hadn’t spoken to him since they parted ways last night. 

 

“Um,  _ com licença por favor _ ? I thought you said you and Hopeless Hemingway were having a little rendez-vous romantique during your investigation.” 

 

Betty’s already shaking her head before Veronica’s finished. “I don’t know, I thought we were but… I was probably just imagining it all.” She looks at her hands, focused on twisting them together instead of letting her nails touch her palms.

 

“Well, first of all that’s absurd,” Veronica sounds scandalised. “And secondly, if he can’t remove that ridiculous beanie from his eyes and see what a catch you are then he’s certainly not worthy of my best friend.” Her arm is around Betty’s shoulders now. “And you can come with me and Sweet Pea!”

 

“Thanks, V,” Betty lets out a watery laugh. “I don’t want to gatecrash.” 

 

“Say no more,” Veronica waves her away. “There’s always room for Betty Cooper in Veronica Lodge’s limousine.” 

 

Betty smiles, allowing herself to be tucked into Veronica’s side. There’s a part of her that still hopes, reminds herself that she’d only put the note in first thing this morning. The dance was next week. But that part is flickering, stuttering, ready to go out. 

.

.

.

Jughead doesn’t accept her invitation.

 

In fact, he barely talks to her in the lead up to the dance at all. He turns up to the Blue and Gold like he’s supposed to, and he’d listened to her retelling of Veronica’s story, reacting with surprise in all the right places, laughing in others. 

 

“Sweet Pea won’t shut up about this dance thing,” Jughead had chuckled, one hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. 

 

“Oh, yeah?” Betty asks, trying to sound casual as her pulse picks up, thinking this might be the moment. 

 

“He’s such a sap really,” Jughead teases and Betty laughs tightly. There’s a heavy pause where neither of them can look at one another. “Not somewhere you’d ever catch me, though,” he mumbles some time later. 

 

“Oh.” Betty was crestfallen but hoped she hadn’t shown it. 

 

She hadn’t really wanted to go to the dance at all after that, but Veronica had insisted she’d have a good time with her and Sweet Pea—he’d even bought two corsages. It wasn’t so bad, the gym decorated in spring coloured streamers and a semi-decent DJ playing a repeat of the current Top 40. And Veronica and Sweet Pea held true to their word about not making her feel like a third wheel. 

 

Betty’s eyes kept sliding towards the entrance, no matter how many times she scolded herself. She was being silly and this wasn’t a movie and Jughead wasn’t going to come barrelling through the doors at the last minute, breathless and panting as he told her how much of a fool he’d been. It was just the dance, she told herself, the dance was making her stupid. 

 

As compensation for her crimes, Cheryl had announced she was holding an after party at Thornhill, BYOB. 

 

Veronica, as she’d known, could be terribly persuasive. 

 

Which is how Betty found herself a few too many shots of  _ something _ in, red cup of questionable beer in her hand, watching the party blearily from her seat on the Blossom’s sofa. It wasn’t like Betty, but she was wallowing, so sue her. 

 

_ This is actually nice _ , she thinks, toeing her heels off to tuck her feet up beneath her. She likes solitude, being left alone with her thoughts. Those thoughts that aren’t about dark curls or cornflower eyes, or serpents or the feeling of chapped lips covering hers. So what if one boy didn’t want to go to a stupid dance with her? She was a  _ catch,  _ and if he couldn’t see that then someone else would. Just like Veronica said. 

 

_ Where is Veronica? _

 

Betty scans the room with glassy eyes, squinting against the slight blur in her vision. This was why she didn’t make a habit of underaged, recreational drinking. She liked to be sharp and clear—sensible. Not  _ fun _ . She wasn’t  _ fun.  _

 

She’s so concentrated on  _ not thinking  _ and searching for Veronica that her eyes sweep right over the hunched figure in the doorway, tucking himself up against the wall to avoid the flailing crowds. It’s not until he’s spotted her and is heading straight for the sofa that her eyes focus and he comes into view. 

 

“Err. Hey, Betty.” She leans back to look at him, his shy, uncertain smile staring back at her. 

 

“Jug Head Jones,” she accuses, waving a finger. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t come to these stupid things.” Her mouth is running away from her already. 

 

He flinches slightly. “Yeah, poor wording. Um, Sweet Pea called me. He said—”

 

“Oh, of course he did!” Betty cuts him off, standing up on bare feet, swaying into his personal space. “Sweet Pea is just as meddle-y as his new girlfriend.”

 

“He only told me that he thought—” Betty doesn’t let him finish again. Part of her, the part with control over her motor functions, wants to shut up and hear what he has to say. But that part isn’t in control right now. 

 

“I know what he told you. He told you that he had to take me to the dance as well because he felt sorry for me, because you didn’t accept my invitation because you’re blind and I’m great,” she grins. 

 

Jughead looks utterly confused. “Wait, what? What invitation? Betty, you never asked me to the dance.” 

 

“Yes I did! I put a note in your locker asking you like the stupid compatibility quiz suggested and you,” she pokes a finger at his chest, “told me you’d never go to the dance.”

 

Jughead’s silent for a long time, lips parted, so much so that Betty begins to count his eyelashes, casting long shadows across his cheeks. 

 

“Betty,” he sighs, the sound causing tingles to spread throughout her every limb. “I never saw your note. It must have, I don’t know, slipped out of my locker or fallen into the one beneath.” He closes his eyes briefly, a smile playing about his lips. “I didn’t know you’d asked me.”

 

It takes longer than usual for that to sink into her addled brain. “Oh.” Her cheeks begin to lift. “ _ Oh _ .”

 

“Yeah,” Jughead exhales through a laugh, hands on her upper arms to steady her. It’s such a nice feeling against the exposed skin that she doesn’t even care that he can feel the goosebumps he’s caused. “I just thought—well you’d said that when we kissed,” he swallows, “that it was just because you didn’t want us to get caught. And then you didn’t say anything else about it and I assumed you wanted it to mean  _ only _ that. And then you didn’t ask me to the stupid dance...” A pretty flush covers his cheeks, visible even in the dimly lit room and Betty has no inhibitions about reaching up to touch it with her fingertips. 

 

“You never said either,” she counters. “I thought you didn’t like kissing me.” 

 

“Believe me, Betty. That is not the case.” 

 

She knows she’s grinning now, starting to come back to herself under the heat of his stare. “Good. You’re so dumb. You’re so… cute and dumb,” she says fondly. 

 

It startles a laugh from Jughead who leans up to press a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, I should probably drive you home. We can talk more when you don’t have a headache,” he says, placing the cup in her hand down on the closest surface. 

 

“I don’t have a headache?” she says, following him easily through the crowd, hand laced in his. 

 

“Oh, but you will.”

.

.

.

Betty’s heart is hammering as she stands outside the Blue and Gold on Monday afternoon. 

 

Jughead had text over the weekend to check on her hangover ( _ nonexistent thank you very much _ . Betty never forgets to drink enough fluids before bed) but they hadn’t seen each other since they basically admitted they both sucked at communication and they did, indeed,  _ like _ each other.

 

Steeling herself, Betty straightens the hem of her sweater and pushes the door open. 

 

Jughead’s already waiting inside, ankles crossed on the desk, tipped back in his chair as he plays a game of makeshift catch. She smiles when he spots her, his face brightening. 

 

“How’s the head, baby?” he asks again, just to be facetious she assumes. 

 

“Perfectly fine,” she shoots back, her stomach doing somersaults. There’s a pause, but Betty doesn’t want this again. She doesn’t want them to be shy and unsure about whatever this thing between them could be. She knows he likes her, liked kissing her, and really what more does she need?

 

“So, about what was said at the party…” she begins slowly, making her way over to his desk. He smirks, dropping his feet to the floor, standing as she nears. 

 

“Remind me,” he teases, taking a step. She can still see the nerves beneath the game, his face heating, fingers playing with the zipper of his jacket.

 

“Oh, about you being dumb?” she counters, tipping her head to the side. 

 

“ _ Cute  _ and dumb, I believe was the exact wording,” he rebuffs. She blushes and he reaches up to press cool fingers to her cheek, like she’d done to him. 

 

“Yeah.” They drift closer, Betty catching his eyes dart towards her mouth. “Cute and dumb,” she repeats, rising on her toes. 

 

This kiss feels much like the first, except it starts off slower, fleeting presses of their lips until Jughead inhales deeply through his nose and moves his hands to cup her neck, tilting her head just so. Betty slips her hands beneath his jacket to fist her fingers in his flannel, giving back as much as she’s getting. 

 

They pull back, both warm and breathless, Betty feeling rather than hearing the dazed laugh that rumbles from Jughead’s chest as she tucks her face against his neck. 

 

“Oh no,” she breathes into his skin, her lips curved in a contented smile. Jughead stills. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

She pulls back to look at him, nothing but happiness dancing across her features. “We’re going to have to admit to Veronica that her quiz actually works.” 

 

His laughter echoes through the office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it’s been an age hasn’t it? A whole year in fact! Thanks so much if you decided to read this long overdue final instalment, or if you decided to read from the start. As always, comments are much appreciated if you enjoyed 💛

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my lifeblood, and I'd be very thankful if you left one <3


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